“All alone you challenge me, Thalanaxe? For it seems your friends are busy with their thoughts.” Arabashiel sauntered down the stairs, but twenty feet from the dwarven priest. Her graceful steps echoed with a resonating power.
“What have ye’ done to them, demon!?” Zen roared, his friends unblinking, unmoving, and Mudren laughed from his cursed lips.
“Some endless wine for the drunkard, perfect and delicious indeed.” A small ripple, without color nor sound, washed through the air as she spoke.
James looked to his hands, there was no shield nor glistening griffon hilted broadsword. In his right was a goblet, golden and shining full with red wine. In his left was a bottle, uncorked, and flowing gently over as if divinely enchanted to never stop. He smelled it, pouring over his hands to the floor, everything else was still. There was nothing else moving, his surroundings were hazy, and he slowly lifted his hands.
“Let them go!” Zen pounded his warhammer to the floor, a massive echo tore through the ominous dread of the throneroom, and she laughed more.
“I think not. Eternal glory and bloodshed for the horned savage maybe?.” Arabashiel stepped closer and the dwarven priest so full of courage was now backing away. Her words carried dark curse and the embrace of desire through the air.
Saberrak heard his name being chanted by tens of thousands, the world was still, but to his left was an arena. He looked at his body, covered in golden armor, his hands held the heads of defeated foes, and the crowd wanted more. He started to walk to his left, everything else around him a blur.
“James, Saberrak, what ye’ doin?! Wake up! Wake up!” Zen smacked the two staring warriors with his shield, their arms were at their sides, and they seemed to not know he was there at all. Nothing happened.
“It is of no use, priest of Vundren. Forbidden love and noble dreams for the elven princess.” Again, the air rippled with force, the shadows danced furiously on the walls, and the brave dwarf before her was backing up further, all alone.
Shinayne was in the grove, the sacred grove with Lavress, her hands held no blades. She was queen of Kilikala, and her king was dressed just as a noble highborne elf. Thousands bowed as she passed, hundreds of griffon riders saluted in airborn honor, and she walked with her beloved to a majestic castle of elven antiquity. She forgot everything else.
“All the known arcane powers and wordly fame for the hungry wizard.” Arabashiel stretched her wings wide, smiling wickedly at Azenairk. “You see, it was never meant to be, Thalanaxe. I was meant to be, sent here by God, and you are but a mortal who worships a lesser thing. Now, for you, what is it you desire?”
Gwenneth was in a daze, she heard the words, felt the power of this immortal being. Yet, the tempatation was not there, she resisted. She sensed the infernal magicks at work, she looked to her left hand, and the ring of Kalzarius was glistening as the air rippled around her and the others. She thought of what he had said, that the ring would absorb dark arcane powers, she blinked but did not move. She waited.
“I desire ye’ let me friends go, and we do this fair. How bout’ that?” Zen shook Shinayne’s arm, then Gwenneth’s, still recoiling from the winged woman over twice his height. The air wanted to tempt him, but nothing got through his sacred helmet. He lowered his head, looked to the demon, and stopped his frantic attempts to wake his friends. His warhammer twirled, he turned to face her alone, yet Gwenne’s fingers caught his sleeve.
“They are mine, forever. All I need is to take away that flesh.” Arabashiel fanned her fingers on her right hand, shadow swirled, flames smoldered, and a curved scimitar over seven feet in length grew solid. It glowed like embers of a dying fire, it smoked with shadows, yet the black blade and golden hilt were perfect. She raised it over Saberrak, and smiled at the last Thalanaxe. “You seem most resistant to temptation, little priest, so you choose. Who dies first?”
“Suirazlak!” Gwenneth said the word, the name of the arcane master that had created the ring, backwards. The ring flashed white, all through the room, and Arabashiel turned her purple gaze to Gwenneth. She smiled to the twelve foot Gimmorian not fifteen feet in front of her with an immortal blade raised high. “What you offered, I already have, demon.”
“Shesh uzhul camiradius eth vazhles ur!” Arabashiel roared, not like a graceful immortal woman, but as if a horde of demons were chanting through her chest. Her eyes flashed bright, as did her blade, and the air rippled with a force that shook the walls, infernal powers unleashing all around.
“Suirazlak!” Gwenneth held her staff forward, even though it was the ring of Kalzarius that absorbed the dark powers directed at her and her companions. The ring glowed white, small sparks pulsed out of the enchanted band, letting her know it was near full of stolen energy.
James looked around, he had his blade and his shield, the wine had disappeared. Shinayne blinked, her blades were in her hands, the grove had vanished. Saberrak roared and staggered back, his arms held his axes again, the arena vision faded away. Gwenneth winked to Zen, he winked back, and they walked forward.
“Impossible!” The Gimmorian mistress of curses screamed and pointed her fingers, more rippling air issued, the walls cracked around them. The golden floor buckled, the braziers exploded with skull and green fires, and debris whipped across the throneroom from her mere whims.
“Suirazlak!” The power was absorbed once more, into the ring, a ring that now throbbed and burned Gwenneth’s finger.
“How ye’ doin’ that?” Zen stood in awe as his friends woke up and Gwenne dueled the demon with words and magicks.
“Divine defiance through better arcane practices, but I cannot do it again. Shall we?” Gwenneth took off the ring and hurled it toward the throne. She focused on it, striking it with arcane force as it neared Arabashiel. The white glowing band exploded with a tremendous flash of power, sending Mudren Sheldathain to the far wall and incinerating the skulls that littered the steps.
They all covered their faces with their arms, turned their heads away, and the deafening blast echoed from the throne where Arabashiel had been. The dust settled, the shadows still danced, and in the dark aftershock and smoke, two purple eyes opened and glared down at them.
“Your blasphemy will not go unpunished.” She spoke with anger, with hate, and leapt off the stairs toward the five defilers of her sacred dark eternity, without a mark upon her.
Saberrak lowered his horns, raised his axes, and dove at the charging demonic woman. His axes crossed, meeting her curved smoldering blade in midair. They crashed together, blade to axes, and the minotaur held her advance as she pushed down with all her force. His legs pushed ahead, her form nearly twice his size, yet he held her, barely.
Lightning ripped through the air, striking Arabashiel in the face, then again, Gwenneth unleashing all she had. James rolled under her striking wing, blade glowing blue and gold, and cut deep into her side with a quick slash. Shinayne feinted to roll low, then sprung up over her grabbing hand, and cut across her ribs with both blades. The cuts were deep, she bled red, and the highborne elf landed on the steps. Azenairk slammed his hammer into her hip, then swung again, but her dark feathered wing slammed his chest sending him backwards. As he recovered, the other wing did the same from the other side, and knocked him over sideways, then again, and to the ground he went.
Arabashiel let up on the mighty minotaur, tired of the standoff, and kicked forward. Her naked foot hit him solid, sending him end over end for twenty feet or more, and he tumbled onto the broken stone walkway with a crash. Another cut in her side, never had she been injured in her immortal life, and she slashed her curved blade toward the knight. His shield blocked it, but still he flew back into the wall from the force of the blow. Another burning cut, then a painful thrust of enchanted steel into her back, the blades of the elven woman hurt her as well. She caught another lightning bolt with her free hand, then another, dissipating them harmlessly in her fingers.
Shinayne slashed with Carice, meeting the giant curved scimitar as
it parried, then she dove Elicras high, in feint, and drove it into Arabashiel’s thigh. The scream burned her ears, yet she managed to sidestep the counterattack as the scimitar smashed the stone where Shinayne had been.
A blast of fire erupted over her head, and Arabashiel ignored it. A line of green acid whipped through the air, and she caught it with the palm of her hand, dropping the harmless liquid onto the steps. She swung her blade at the elf, who leapt over it. Again, and her elven foe ducked under. She raised it up high, then rushed her.
Shinayne lunged ahead, rolled between her legs as a clawed hand grabbed, a blade larger than her crashed the stone, and two mighty wings slammed toward her. She rose up, behind the demon, and sliced both blades twice, each attack severing the marble flesh on the backs of her legs. Arabashiel screamed again and fell to a knee. She noticed her blades had a strange golden glow, and that she was alone up here. Just as she went to strike again, an immortal backhand caught her face and sent her spiraling down the stairs.
Arabashiel stood and turned toward the five mortals. The hammer had not hurt her, the arcane powers were but annoying, only the blades of the knight and the elf held her attention. She smiled, concentrated, and her injuries slowly began to heal with green glowing immortal force. She walked the steps quickly, as her enemies gathered themselves to their feet.
“Servant, call the demons of judgement, we have victims to offer.” She caught an orb of freezing cold from the wizard with her palm, it did nothing, and she let the ice fall from her fingers.
Mudren Sheldathain shook his head from the explosion, stood, and staggered to the throne. He felt weak, he heard the crying of women and children faintly nearby, yet he had to obey his mistress. He sat in his once throne of gold, and let his red glowing eyes roll back, then focused on the shadows. The dancing shades on the walsl began to collect, take form, and scream from the stone. “Yes, my Gimmorian queen, I will summon them.”
Zen pulled Shinayne to her feet, Gwenneth took her first breath after her barrage of at least a dozen spells, and James staggered toward them. Saberrak stomped up from his far off landing, rolling his shoulder and growled low in pain. They all backed up toward the forges together, Arabashiel stalking toward them, with no visible wounds from all they had inflicted. Shadows from the walls leapt toward the throne, demonic screams erupted from where the cursed dwarven king sat, and the five companions backed up more.
“My blades hurt her, as did yours, James.” Shinayne whispered as they fell back in step through the melted door to the golden steps of the forge. Her lip was split and her cheek was swelling, the elven noble had never felt force like that before.
“I know, but she is still too strong, too fast.” James’ head was bleeding from his impact with the cavern wall.
“My powers are not harming her much, but I can try and slow her.” Gwenneth wiped the sweat from her forehead.
“Time for some help from Vundren.” Zen slammed his hammer to the ground despite the pain from his bruised chest. Light flashed from the weapon and the forge dedicated to his God at the same moment. His warhammer glowed and hummed as he prayed silently. “Saberrak, what be your plan?”
Saberrak twirled his axes as they spread out in the cavernous forge. The gray minotaur paced, back and forth, building his anger and rage. He raised his horns, eyes glowing with blue flames, and he bellowed at the approaching immortal as she reached the stairs beneath the melted doorway. He saw many demons behind her take flight in the hall of the throneroom, real ones, not shadows this time. He growled low and stared. Saberrak said nothing, not one word. He turned to his friends, a determined stare crossed his face, and he ran toward Arabashiel.
“You heard him!” Zen slammed his hammer to his shield and charged. “Vuumber!”
Kaya IV:III
Refugee Encampment, Ruined Outskirts of Tintasarn
The people stood, watched with curiosity and suspicion, as Lady Kaya T’Vellon, Sir Codaius of Norninne, Sir Leonard and Sir Karai of Harlaheim, all rode hard into the encampment. A woman they had never seen, as fast on foot as the charging horses, kept pace. Were it not for the serious and determined looks on their faces, the refugees would have shouted their names and applauded their arrival. All five made for the tent of Rosana, dismounting quickly as they approached, and spoke to no one. Julia Whiteblade met them at the royal tents, did a quick dismount, and strode in behind them, closing the flaps tight.
“Father Garret, where is Lord Cristoff!?” Kaya was sweating from the hard ride in the hot morning steam of the uncharted west. “We need to speak with him, now.”
“Ssshhh.” Garret, Brunnwik, and Drodunn all put their fingers to their lips at the same time as the tent filled with armored knights and captains.
“Rosana is sleeping now, but not for long I am sure. The baby is coming, today, likely when she wakes up.” Garret looked in distress. His hands were smattered with blood.
“Will she…is she going to…what is wrong…?” Kaya whispered.
“The baby is early, she is not ready, but we cannot wait.” Garret looked to the table with the small knife and the pile of rags, all with traces of blood. “The baby, or the mother, will die if she does not deliver within a few hours time.”
“What can we do?” Kaya glanced to Codaius, Julia, and the knights of Harlaheim.
“Pray, m’lady, just pray.” Brunnwik sighed with his hammer and moons held tight in his grip. His other hand wiped Rosana’s brow with a clean wet towel.
Angeline walked forward, no one here knowing her from anyone, yet no one stopped her. She placed her hand on the womb of the former queen of Harlaheim. She closed her eyes, listened to the morning air, and smiled.
“The boy is strong, with a good heart, full of love. But the cord is around his legs, it needs to be cut for the mother to deliver and survive.” She opened her eyes. Everyone was staring at her.
Drodunn flipped open his book, his tome with all the names and goings on he had written in for decades. “What be your name, lass?”
“Angeline of Charity, of the Knights Soujan.” She bowed. “I have asked the winds to assist, the sky to bless, and the sun to heal this woman and protect her child. She will survive.”
“Uhhh…huh….” Drodunn Anduvann raised his red eyebrows and continued writing, yet gave an odd look to Brunnwik. The High Hammer gave the same suspicious look to Father Garret, who merely shrugged and sighed.
“My good dwarven priests, at this point we will accept all the help and prayer we can.” Garret tried to smile, but his concern for Rosana and the baby was keeping his very serious.
“Uhhh…huh…lady of knights, calls upon wind and sees future of pregnant women…named Angeline…” Drodunn kept writing.
Garret looked past the lady in green robes, the dwarves, the knights in silence, and felt something from Kaya. “Lady T’Vellon, what is it?”
“I do not want to worry you here, you have enough to handle. I need Cristoff.” Kaya wiped her eyes, seeing Rosana somewhat pale, breathing quick, yet asleep. She wished she could stay to watch her would-be sister, to help her in her desperate struggle, but she had seen the army. She knew what she had to do.
“Are we in danger, Kaya?” Garret looked at her, then all of them, and the men hung their heads.
“We are, father.”
“Who and how many?” He washed his hands in the water basin, made the sign of the feathered cross on his chest, and reached for a dry towel.
“Armondeen, five legions. They are camped just north of an old outpost, a mile north of the ruined city.” Kaya breathed out deep, trying not to show her anticiptation at describing the mythical city she had seen from afar. Her mind focused on the five thousand soldiers that were preparing to enter it instead.
“We have how many here?” Garret kept drying his hands, looked over to his holy longsword against the small makeshift altar in the tent, and closed his eyes in silent prayer.
“Five hundred dwarves, mercenary companies from Freemoore number almost
four hundred, Harlaheim has but three hundred or so, and fifty from Evermont with Sir Codaius.” Kaya kept breathing, wishing Alexei was here. He knew all the strategies, fought and led all the battles, he would know what to do.
“That be nearly thirteen hundred, say fifteen hundred if we sent a call to arms into the caravan, and that be including us, right?” Drodunn did some quick math and looked to everyone in the tent.
“Correct.” Kaya smiled, a false smile of hope, and nodded to the dwarven priest.
“Do we have anyone to call upon, anyone nearby that…” Father Garret knew the answer, and did not finish his question. They were days and days from any civilization. The former queen could not be moved, they had not found the five they sought, and now an army that was four times theirs encroached on the ruins they needed to enter.
“Sir Jardayne will come, he swore on his honor. He will be here.” Codaius nodded but kept his eyes to the floor.
“With how many, though?” Kaya asked.
“At most, one legion.”
“Then we will still be vastly outnumbered, by over double our numbers. Can we move, further away, into the foothills or mountains?” Kaya looked to Garret.
“No, not a chance. The horses, wagons, nor the queen could make that journey. Our people have traveled across all of Shanador, in the summer and harvest months, they are at trail’s end, Lady Kaya.” Garret sighed and rubbed his face. “After the baby is born, we could make a slow withdraw to Evermont or Freemoore, but…”
“But, those five thousand soldiers could be here within a few minutes’ time. We would never make it. We are hidden here, around the south and east of the Kaki Mountains. Should we move, we will be spotted.” Kaya sighed.
“Do they have scouts?” Drodunn was nervous now, it showed, he put his book away. “We need to get me brother, Tannek, now.”
The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth Page 44
